Where Words Have Failed
by Elven Ink
Summary: **COMPLETE** In which Daenerys and Jorah share a scarf, because self-care is important.


**AN: This was a drabble response I did on Tumblr, but someone requested that I upload it here. So, here it is!**

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A plume of silver curled up in front of his face, another shivering breath to accompany his watch. Jorah could feel the cold prickling at his cheeks, biting the end of his nose red and numbing his fingers even within the thick gloves he was wearing. Dragonstone was not, it seemed, immune to the chill winter winds rolling down from the Wall to the north, despite the distance between them. This only led credence to Jon Snow's dire warning, his house's words carried now in truth: winter was certainly coming.

Ser Jorah shook the cold from his mind with little more than stubbornness and duty, eyes fixed across the seas from where he was sitting on the castle walls. No doubt Cersei had long since heard of the Dragon Queen's arrival, and they stayed in the tiny island under constant concern that the Lannister would make her move first. While Tyrion had, apparently, talked Daenerys down from attacking King's Landing straight away, with Jon Snow's plea for help in the North staying her hand further, no such agreement had been reached with the current false queen. It seemed she either did not believe in the threat of the Night King, or did not care.

Bleakly, the man found himself looking northwards, as though he would be able to see the blizzards and darkness forewarned by the King in the North. Naturally, Jorah's gaze turned due north-west: _home_. Bear Island was isolated, far to the North — he could only hope the waters would keep the island safe from the oncoming disaster.

Exhaling to calm the nerves that had slowly built in his chest, Jorah set aside his concerns to refocus on the task at hand: a long, cold, and lonely watch. He didn't begrudge the need, and he took pride in carrying out even the most lacklustre tasks in defence of his Queen. A boring watch was a good watch, by all accounts.

Footsteps behind him caused Jorah to turn, frowning, and with a cautionary hand placed upon his sword; it was far too early for him to be relieved of his duty.

"I see your senses are as sharp as ever, ser."

Jorah scrambled off the wall and to his feet upon realising he was in the presence of the Queen. Standing wrapped in a thick, white and grey fur coat, a long scarf of cobalt blue snug against her throat, hair unbraided and falling in silver rivers over her shoulders, Daenerys still looked every inch a monarch even when she had evidently just arose from her bed. Bowing, he could _hear _her smile before he saw it, but it was no less lovely surprise to see when he straightened up. Her smile could never be anything less than treasured, especially after their long year apart.

"The hour is late, Khaleesi. There is nothing for you to worry about out here."

"I disagree," Daenerys rebuked him softly, walking by him and moving to sit on the wall he had previously been perched on. Jorah felt his heart lurch as she did so — really, must she do something so precarious? — but moved to sit himself next to her at her silent beckon and hand tapping against the stone.

"Then what worries my Queen enough to bring her out here? I should think this far less inviting than a nice warm bed." Jorah cast an open-palmed gesture over the still, quiet cold before them, the dark sea perfectly still, like ink sitting in its well.

For a moment, Daenerys looked out across the sea, the frozen night air tussling her hair slightly as she considered all the worries she may have.

"You," she admitted finally, eyebrows raising as though the confession was a revelation to herself as much as Jorah. She turned to face him, violet eyes cast darker mulberry tones in the grip of night. "I worry about you. I have always worried about you."

The confession alarmed the knight; true enough, they had travelled together for years, a bond forged between them unlike any that could be given name. But it would not do at all to have a Queen worry for her knight. He would always be in harm's way, for he would always stand between his Queen and all the dangers of the world.

"Your Grace has a gentle heart, one this world is in dire need of," Jorah replied, finding it easier to look out across the sea than to meet Daenerys' gaze for something so heartfelt. "Do not waste it for fretting on an old bear."

"I will _waste _it as I see fit," came the curt reply, bringing Jorah's head bowing with a huff of a chuckle. Of course she would. "And I forbid you from regarding yourself as a _waste _of any of my attentions, Ser Jorah Mormont."

Daenerys leant to the side then to press against Jorah briefly, jostling him in light jest and coaxing a gentle laugh from the man. The sound was a rarity, and he caught himself quickly. Still, it was hard not to feel mirth — until recently, he had though he was as good as dead. He had thought he would never see his Queen again, that the last memory of her would be her grief-forged command to cure himself. That he would fail her in this, until the agonising miracle came to his door in the final hour.

"But why do you worry? A few hours' watch is nothing to be concerned about."

"Because…because you haven't told me yet."

This brought Jorah's attention back to his Queen, and he saw concern etched all over her features, lilac eyes darting over his own as though to search for the answers she sought there. "The cure. I commanded you to find it, but it was a selfish command. I could not bear to lose you, Ser Jorah. So I commanded you to defy a death sentence, but I confess I did not expect it would be possible. Only that if it_ were _possible, you would find it."

Ah, but he had failed to inform her of the cure, beyond the fact he had found it. Jorah had no intention of burdening anyone else with the anguish of that gods-awful night.

"It was—it was a complicated procedure. But the maesters deemed me completely cured, and that's all there is to tell. I am well enough to return to your service, Your Grace." Jorah knew even as the words left his mouth that they would cause Daenerys to scowl in annoyance of the information being held from her.

"Jorah. Please…I need to know."

"Why?"

"Because—" Daenerys' voice caught then, a thousand reasons preventing her from voicing a single one clearly. After a moment of frustration, she spoke again: "Because it terrifies me. You swore to serve me for the rest of your life, Ser Jorah. Many people have, including many who claim to love me as you do. But you…you give _everything_ of yourself at my command. Not just your strength and sword but…your comfort, your dreams. Your _life_. I fear the day when…"

Daenerys stopped, voice faltering, as though to give life to these words would tempt fate.

"…I cannot assure you it won't," Jorah responded in honesty, nothing less than he would ever offer his Queen. "Should the day come when I must lay my life down to keep you alive, then I will. Without question. That is my duty."

The only regret he had was the cold silence that settled between them at his words. There was little more to be said on the matter, and so, the bear knight did not speak.

The last thing he expected was to feel the warm snaking of wool around his neck, making him jolt where he was sitting and look at his now very-close companion. Daenerys had unwound some of her long scarf and was trying to wrap it around him too, despite their rather apparent difference in height making it a difficult task.

"If my people would give everything for me, then I, as Queen, will give everything for them," Daenerys said simply. "And I can start by helping my poor frozen bear."

"I—" He didn't really know how to react to tender moments as these, so foreign as they were to him. Jorah hunched a little to try and help her in her task of sharing her scarf; he had to admit it was quite warm and shielded the bitter air from his throat. But in doing so, he had moved himself closer, far closer than Jorah realised until Daenerys met him with a gentle press of her forehead against his own.

"It's not like in the stories, is it?" She murmured. "It's never like the stories. Battles…knights…thrones, crowns…all the stories I heard…they were nothing like what I've now seen for myself."

Jorah, unsure to do so but more to shift comfortably, placed his arm around Daenerys, the flat of his hand against her back.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because those stories were wrong about something else. Something else that doesn't appear with fanfare or clarity. It is humble…and strong…and remains by your side. It gives everything, even if it receives nothing, and asks for nothing. The stories have done it disservice."

"…_It?_"

She didn't answer in a word. Instead, Daenerys stopped Jorah's heart in one, fluid motion, pressing her lips against his. The Dragon Queen exuded warmth against the cold night, hope amidst the world laid before them, and for a brief moment, made Jorah Mormont feel every facet of being _worth _something.

When she drew away, her eyes were alight even in the dark around them, her lips forming into a true smile. She raised a hand up to his face, smooth palms drawing lightly against the stubble of his jaw, and a thousand words in her eyes that could never be consigned to mere stories.

In that moment, Jorah had never been more sure — he would give this woman everything, _everything _she needed to achieve her dreams. His heart, his sword, and his very _life_.


End file.
